I'm Coming Home
by EpicThoth3's
Summary: Five years ago, Phineas Flynn was taken from his home and enslaved by a man known as the Doctor (OC). In that time, the Doctor gained worldwide fame, winning the Nobel Prize five years in a row. But Phineas prefers to call him the Anarchist, ruler of a disorderly world. And when he sees an opportunity to escape his prison, Phineas will stop at nothing to return home.
1. Chapter 1

**If you're wondering why I haven't updated in a while... this is why. I told some of you privately about this story... well, here it is! Hopefully I can update this story fairly frequently, and it's possible that the entire thing's finished by next week. Now, turn off your cell phone, put on your 3D reading glasses, and enjoy the show!**

 **Why do I even need to say that I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: It's Been a Long, Long Time Since I Smiled**

* * *

"Phineas?"

I look up from my cot. A woman is standing there, undoubtedly one of the many _paid_ assistants around here.

"The Doctor will see you now," she told me. I knew she would say that.

I look at the woman, and see the sincerity in her eyes. I'm sure she thinks my life is great. I get to be the lab assistant for greatest scientist who ever lived. I get to see all his creations before the rest of the world.

If only she knew the whole story.

"Phineas?" the woman asks again, when I don't move. "The Doctor wishes to-"

"I know," I say, as politely as I can. It's not her I'm fighting. It's him. The Doctor.

Well, he calls himself the Doctor.

I call him the Anarchist.

I trudge out the door, then miserably begin the long walk down the hallway to the testing room, wondering what infernal creation he has in mind this time.

I'm no fool. I've read the papers. This man has won every single Nobel Prize, five years running. There isn't a man on earth more well-known or loved than him.

But there isn't a man on earth—besides the Anarchist and I—who knows the whole story. Alive, that is.

Oh, there are others out there who know parts of it. But none of them will be able to piece it all together. The last person who knew the truth passed away two years ago. I know because I'm the one who killed him.

Finally, I arrive at the end of the hall. I push open the door, and walk into the testing room, where the Anarchist is already waiting for me, standing next to a metal cot. A body lies on the cot, covered in a white sheet.

"Hello, Phineas," the Anarchist says. "I'm glad you could make it." He's pretending to be polite, but I can see right through that fake smile of his. He knows it, too.

"What do you want this time?" I snarl, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

The Anarchist feigns surprise. "Why so hostile?" he asks, mockingly. "I'm trying to help you."

"You want to help me? Why don't you turn the clocks back five years and kidnap some other people, you rotten son of a—"

"Me? Rotten?" the Anarchist asks, continuing his mocking tone of voice. "Haven't you read the papers? I'm a hero."

"You're not a hero," I growl. "Everything you did—EVERYTHING!—you owe it all to me. And what have you done in return?"

I wait, but he doesn't respond. So I continue, yelling, "NOTHING! You've stolen me _and_ all my friends from our homes, left our families distraught, and then killed off all my friends! You're no hero."

"Such accusations!" the Anarchist cries, as if he's completely innocent. "And I suppose your resilience makes _you_ a hero? Let's not forget who among us _killed his own brother_."

I draw up short. From the way he looks at me, I know that he can tell he's made me really mad. Then he smiles. One of those sickening, evil smiles, too. I can't take it much longer.

"You're no hero, either," the Anarchist says, laughing. "That's far worse than _anything_ I ever did."

I sit down on the floor, beaten. As much as I hate to admit it, he is telling the truth. I made a conscious choice to kill my brother. And now I can't take it back.

Knowing he's won, the Anarchist moves on to his next infernal invention that he wants—no, _demands_ —me to test.

"As I was saying," he says, mockingly polite, "I'm trying to help you this time."

He pulls the sheet off the body, and I gasp, recognizing the lifeless corpse.

It's my brother. Ferb.

"I want to try and bring him back to life," he explains. "The only problem is, this potion that I've concocted is missing an ingredient."

"One, and how many others?" I ask, knowing it will go wrong, even when he gets that one ingredient. It always does. And I have to fix it, or else I'll die. I just wish I could have fixed his other inventions in time to save my friends.

"Just one," he says, ignoring the hatred in my voice. "It needs the life of a living, breathing relative."

"I hope you know I'm not actually related to him by blood," I say, not ready to give up the life I had so painstakingly preserved these past five years.

"Well, I made up the 'relative' part," the Anarchist admits. "I just wanted to make it clear that you're volunteering."

I want to scream and run away, but since I'm trapped here, I restrain myself, and instead think about my options for a moment.

"In that case," I finally say. "Let me fix your mistakes first."

"Oh, that won't be necessary," he replies. "I'm quite sure this one is functional."

I laugh, but not because it's funny. "You mean like your _Light-Speed And Beyond Rocket?_ Which was missing a stabilizer to prevent wormholes?" I ask.

The Anarchist is silent, so I continue.

"Or the Indestructible Bodysuit? You know, the one that _wasn't_ indestructible?"

"Well, um-"

I interrupt him first. "How about the Animal Tamer that didn't tame animals? And the drink which was supposed to make oxygen unnecessary, but instead made it toxic?"

There is no defense to these flaws, so the Anarchist doesn't bother mounting one.

"Out of fear for my own life, I think I will double-check your work," I finish.

"You realize that you will have to die anyways?" the Anarchist asks.

"I at least want my death to serve a purpose," I retort, snatching the potion out of his hand. Immediately, I head out the doors and to the laboratory. For some reason, I know the Anarchist won't follow me.

* * *

After examining the elixir thoroughly, I have determined one thing. Resurrecting the dead is not possible. Ferb cannot come back to life. The closest you can get is to reanimate the dead body, but that's not real living. You can make the rest of the body operate, but it is impossible to make the brain think. So Ferb will remain dead.

A single tear falls out of my eye, and runs down my cheek. My friends are dead, my family is dead, and I'm sure it won't be long before I am dead too. The thought of escape flickers through my mind. It does every time. But the only way out of this slavery is death.

I turn back to the Anarchist's concoction, which right now can't do much of anything. If there isn't a way to get this to work, then what can I do? I know he doesn't accept failure. I learned that the hard way after the memory chip incident. He told me that next time I can't fix an invention of his, he will kill me. I lean back in my chair, and close my eyes. I need to think.

I have two choices. I can make an elixir and die, or I can not make an elixir and die. Either way, I'm dead. Then again, maybe death isn't such a bad thing, considering.

 _No_ , I decide. _I must not die. Otherwise my friends will have died for nothing._

There has to be a way out of this.

But the only way to escape this building is by dying.

That's it!

I spring to life, and scramble around, looking for the right ingredients. I know he has them. If I must die, I will die getting out of here.

My plan is simple. The Anarchist believes that Ferb can only be resurrected if I die in his stead. However, Ferb cannot be resurrected, so I only need to pretend to die. Then, when my body is moved to the graveyard, I can make my escape. It's risky, but it's the only way I don't die.

Before long, I've fashioned a potion that, when injected into my bloodstream, should make my pulse undetectable. I can easily pass off as dead, then. Finished, I make my way back to the testing room, where the Anarchist is patiently waiting for me.

"It's done," I tell him. "It works."

"I'm delighted," says the Anarchist. "Let's get straight to it, then."

He takes a syringe from out of his pocket, and inserts it into the potion. He fills it up with the concoction, and then turns to me.

"Go ahead," I say. "It'll be the only fair death you've caused."

"You know," the Anarchist confesses. "I'm starting to feel a little bit sentimental. You've been good company these past years."

"I wish I could say the same about you," I spit.

He needs no further incentive than that to push the needle into my arm.

"What kind of last words are those?" he asks, injecting the potion into my bloodstream.

"Mine," I tell him.

Immediately, I go into a convulsive fit, as the concoction works its magic. Just before I pass out entirely, I am able to say one more prayer.

 _It's been a good run. Don't make it end here._

I collapse to the floor, and the world goes black around me.

* * *

 **Okay, I admit it. It's another of those stories that aren't the type you enjoy. But I actually start this after all the worst stuff happened, so it's not as bad as it could have been.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Don't have much much to say here. But why must I even mention that I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

* * *

 **Chapter 2. It's Been a Long, Long Time Since I've Seen the Light of Day**

* * *

When I finally regain my senses, the first thing I notice is the smell. It's the worst thing I've ever smelled in my life. Opening my eyes, I see the source of the smell, and it makes me puke. I suppose in hindsight, I should have seen this coming.

The Anarchist did not even take the time to bury my friends properly. He just dumped them unceremoniously into a pit. Now I am in the same pit with all of them. And Ferb is on top of me, dead. A sign that my improved potion didn't work, as I had designed it.

It's the sight of all these lifeless corpses that makes me vomit. Even worse because I recognize them all. They may have been torn to shreds, shattered to pieces, and eaten alive. They may have had their flesh and bones rotting and decaying to the point where they are utterly unrecognizable, but I know who they are.

The one broken into more pieces than he has bones is Buford. The one with the least flesh on him is Baljeet. Isabella's the one with burn marks covering her body, and Candace is the one that looks like roadkill.

I climb out of the pit, and examine my surroundings. I am outside. It is dark out, and the moon is high in the sky. It is nighttime.

I know I should start running now, but I don't. Acting on a sudden impulse, I decide to do one thing first. With my bare hands, I dig five different holes in the ground. Tedious work, I know, but it has to be done. It takes a long time—too long, if you ask me—to finish digging. The work won't even be that rewarding... but what can I say? When I finish, I take the dead bodies of my friends out of the pit, and bury them in the holes. The holes may not be six feet deep, they may not have a coffin to rest eternally in, and they may not have a family to cry as I lower them into the hole, but without a doubt, it is the _least_ they deserve. They all died a hero. At the very least, let their grave show that, if only in some small way.

By the time I'm done, I can see the sun rising over the horizon. It really is time I start moving. It won't be long before the Anarchist realizes I wasn't dead. As silently as I can, I start running. I run away from the building that has been my prison for five years, and hopefully, towards a new and better life.

Once I feel like I'm far enough away, I duck into an alleyway, and think about what to do.

First, I need to figure out where I am. That's easy, because I see a copy of the Tri-State Times that somebody has thrown away. So I am somewhere in the Tri-State Area. Obviously, I can't go home to my mother. The Anarchist will undoubtedly get there first, and as soon as I come anywhere even close to her I will be caught. So that option is out.

The same would go for anyone my mother knows. Mrs. Garcia-Shapiro, Mrs. Johnson, Mrs. Van Stomm, my dad, my cousins in England, my grandparents, and the list goes on. If my mother knows the family, they are being watched. What I need to do is find somebody I know, but my mother has absolutely no relation to. Not Irving, nor his brother Albert. None of the Fireside Girls. Not Django...

I reach into my pocket, and pull out my memory chip. But I don't even need to use it, because it reminds me of an experience I had that no one knows about. At first, the idea seems like suicide, but the more I think about it, the more I believe that it's my only choice. After a long and silent debate, I decide to go forward with it.

I need to find a Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz.

* * *

Once again, it takes a long time for me to accomplish my task, this time by finding the unique purple building with the _Doofenshmirtz Evil Incoporated_ sign painted on it. But I do find it eventually. Hopefully, before the Anarchist as well. Looking up at the balcony of the penthouse, I see a shadow leap off the edge, activate a hang glider, and sail through the sky. I know who it is, even though I'm not supposed to.

I enter the building, walk up to the thirty-eighth and final floor, and finally knock on the door.

"Oh, come on!" a voice cries from inside the room. "Can't you see I'm groveling?"

I remain silent, but I hear footsteps growing louder, and eventually the door is opened by the very man I need to see.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"If you knew, you could be killed," I tell him. "Let's just say I'm a good friend of Perry's."

"Perry the Platypus?" Dr. D asks.

I nod. "That one."

"What are you doing here?"

"I need your help."

"Really?" the evil scientist asks, not quite believing what I say.

"Yes. I need you to rebuild that portal to the other dimension."

"Huh?"

"Can you build a portal to the second dimension?" This time, I ask him slowly, so I know he knows what I'm saying.

"Oh!" he says, understanding. "You mean like an Other-Dimension-Inator! Or something. Yeah, I can do that!"

"Thanks," I say, as Dr. D pushes the button on the elevator. He steps in the lift, and heads down to the basement, presumably to get building materials.

While I wait for him to get the parts he needs from the basement, I find a pad of paper and a pen. I tear off a piece of paper (official DEI stationery) and write a short message on it.

 _I'm alive. Find me._

I sign my name on it, and fold it so nobody can see the message.

Finally, Doofenshmirtz returns in the elevator, and he already has the contraption built.

"Wouldn't you believe it? There just happened to be an Other-Dimension-Inator lying in my basement!" he tells me.

"That's awesome," I reply, going over to the Other-Dimension-Inator and turning it on. But before I head off to the second dimension, I need to take care of two issues.

"Oh, and Dr. D?" I call.

"Yeah?"

"You can't tell anyone that I was ever here to use your Other-Dimension-Inator."

"Why?"

"If you do, you could be killed." I say. Who knows how far the Anarchist will go to recapture me? The odds are that he's already sent a search party out by now.

"Oh!" I add, handing him the letter I wrote. "And next time you see Perry, give him this, will you?"

"Why? What is it?" he asks. "Wait. Let me guess. If I knew, I could be killed,"

I look at him solemnly. Without another word, I step into the portal, and the next dimension. The portal closes behind me.

* * *

Looking around, I determine that I am in the penthouse of the very same building I left the first dimension in. But that makes sense. What surprises me is the figure I see on the balcony, looking out into the city.

Once I recognize her, though, my surprise turns to joy. Unbridled joy.

"Isabella!" I cry, running over to her.

She jumps, herself surprised by my sudden entrance.

I grab her in an enormous hug, and swing her around me. "I could absolutely _kiss_ you right now!" I tell her.

Isabella blushes a deep red. "I don't mind," she says.

I smile. "I know," I reply. Then I kiss her on the cheek. She blushes an even deeper red.

"It's so good to see you!" I scream, still not letting go of her.

"Phineas!" she yells, chuckling. "We only just talked an hour ago!"

It's then that I realize what she thinks. "No, no, no," I correct her, "I'm not _your_ Phineas."

Isabella freezes on the spot. "What?"

"I'm the Phineas from the first dimension," I explain.

Her face relaxes. At least I'm still a Phineas. "Oh."

"What are you doing here?" I ask. "This isn't the sort of place I'd expect to find you."

"I've been coming up here often ever since we stopped Doofenshmirtz," she replies. "The view helps me relax." When I remain silent, she asks the question that is foremost in her mind.

"So how do I get my Phineas to fall in love with me?"

"What?" I ask.

"Well, it's obvious you love your Isabella, so how did she do it?"

I sigh, and my brief happiness returns to the eternal glumness I've grown used to. "It's... it's not what you think."

"Oh, come on," says Isabella, persistent. "I've known my Phineas for only five years. But you've known your Isabella for at least twelve. How did she do it?"

" _Nine_ years," I correct her statement. "I've only known Isabella for nine years."

"Oh," she says. "I'm sorry. I thought you two met when you were four, just after I moved in right across the street from you."

"No, you're right," I tell her, downcast. "We met when we were four. It's just... it's a long story. Not a happy one, either."

"We've got a lot of time," she says. "No one will disturb us up here."

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Definitely. This penthouse has been abandoned for years."

"No. Are you sure you want to hear my story?"

She looks at me, and for the first time, the emptiness in my eyes seems to register in hers.

"You can trust me," she says. "I'm listening."

"I know," I reiterate. "But I'm not sure you want to."

Isabella grabs my shoulders, turns me to face her, and looks me in the eyes.

"Phineas," she says. "I know something's bothering you. And I know that whatever happened since we last saw each other isn't good. In fact, I know it's probably very, very bad. But I also want you to know that I'm always here for you. Okay?"

I nod.

"Now, tell me what happened."

I sigh, and lean over the edge of the balcony. Isabella was right: the view of the city really is beautiful from up here, especially during the sunset. I take another deep breath, and begin my story.

* * *

 **I guess you could call that a cliffhanger right there, even though you're not really wondering what will happen next. It's not like I left a character in grave danger, and nobody's life hangs in the balance. But it does tick the final box, which is leaving unanswered a big and relevant question. Of course, that question is: what is Phineas's story?**

 **Oh, you're actually asking? Well, how can I tell if you don't leave a review?**


	3. Chapter 3

**This is that chapter I'm supposed to issue you readers a warning about. So, um, warning! Disturbing chapter, coming up! But, seeing as I've got nothing better to do with my time, I might as well update right now, and let you all know what happened to Phineas these last five years. Read on, if you dare...**

 **Why do I even need to say I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: It's Been a Long, Too Long, But I'm Coming**

* * *

"I suppose I should back up to right after we stopped the Doofenshmirtz in your dimension," I say. "Right after we did that, we had our memories of that day erased, because we had discovered that Perry was a secret agent. We weren't supposed to know that. However, the last thing Isabella - _my_ Isabella - did before we had our minds erased was kiss me on the lips. That should answer your earlier question, about how she got me to fall in love with her."

Isabella nods. I continue.

"So that was the end of that. Our real troubles began right before the end of that summer. We decided that for the last night of summer vacation, we should have a sleepover. Me, you, Ferb, Baljeet, and Buford. So we had a sleepover at my house. We set up a tent, and had a campout in the backyard.

"Just before we went to sleep, we heard the fence gate creak open. I left the tent to see what it was, and I got hit in the back of the head, and passed out.

"When I awoke, I was trapped in a cell with you, Ferb, Baljeet, Buford, and Candace. Apparently, whoever had knocked me out that night had snuck into the tent and kidnapped everyone else as well."

"So then how did Candace end up with you?" Isabella asks.

"What I was told," I reply, "is that she heard the commotion outside, and came outside to see what was going on. Unfortunately, she ended up in the cell with the rest of us."

"Oh," says Isabella.

"The man who kidnapped us calls himself the Doctor," I say, moving on with my painful story. "But I prefer to call him the Anarchist. He said that he had been monitoring us all summer, and that he had seen the different things we could do. You know, build the impossible, and all that. Basically, he decided that he wanted to do the same thing, except he wanted to sell whatever impossible invention he came up with for a ton of money so he could get rich. And he was going to use us like lab rats, and test all of his inventions on us. If they didn't work, he would force us to fix it."

"So he practically enslaved you?" asks Isabella. I affirm this with a nod.

"The problem was, the Anarchist couldn't do the impossible in the same way we could, but we didn't discover that until he forced Buford to ride in the rocket the Anarchist had designed to break the light barrier."

"What happened?"

I swallow. This is the part that is the hardest to tell. Where my life—which had already gone from good to bad to _really_ bad—gets even worse.

"The rocket malfunctioned. The warp drive went haywire because it was missing a stabilizer, and created a miniature wormhole. The rocket was sucked in, and Buford with it. Then the wormhole tore itself apart, exploding and scattering Buford's remains over everyone."

Isabella shuddered. A tear trickled down my cheek.

"That wasn't the only one, either. Shortly after that, the Anarchist designed a supposedly indestructible bodysuit. He forced Candace to try this one. Only, it wasn't indestructible. He opened fire with a machine gun, and that was the end of my sister."

Isabella looks at me, her eyes wide with fear. "I never thought anything could be worse than Doofenshmirtz's reign. It sounds like I was wrong."

I look back at her, my eyes full of tears. "I wish that were the end of it," I tell her. "The Anarchist also designed this perfume which was supposed to attract animals to whoever wore it, and furthermore, tame the animal. Even the biggest lion was supposed to roll over like a puppy. But when he forced Baljeet to test the perfume, the opposite happened. The wild tigers were attracted, all right, but because they were convinced Baljeet was prey. I was forced to carry his bones back to the lab."

"Phineas," Isabella says, tearing up. "I'm so sorry."

I hug her tightly. "That's not even the worst part," I say, sobbing freely. "Isabella, you..."

She looks up at me, and suddenly the truth dawns on her. She lets another few tears trickle down her cheek. "What happened to me?" she asks.

I sob. "Three years ago, your alternate self was forced to test an elixir that shold have made oxygen unnecessary, supposedly allowing her to breathe underwater or in outer space. She stood at the edge of the pool, and drank the elixir."

It is nearly impossible for me to tell this story to anyone, yet at the same time, with every word I say, and every part of the past I tell, my soul gets a little bit lighter. I guess having an outlet to funnel your nightmares into is something everyone needs. So, even though it is hard to continue, even though no words can effectively describe the torture I went through, I continue.

"Immediately, you started choking and convulsing. You coughed, and blood flew out of your mouth, followed closely by foam from whatever else was in your stomach. Your body turned a color I had never seen anywhere, before or since, and hives as big as my fist appeared all over your body, eventually growing so big they popped, taking your skin with it and revealing your insides. The last thing you saw before you fell over dead was your own intestine, burning up from the inside. It was by far the most gruesome death of anyone. I couldn't stand the sight of it. I still can't stand the memory of it."

I stop there, taking a moment to let the tears flow. A long moment to let the tears flow. "The elixir didn't make oxygen unnecessary," I explain. "It made it toxic."

Isabella freezes. "I..." She hugs me again. We spend the next minute crying on each other's shoulders. Honestly, it feels quite nice. It's been two years since I've met another person I could open up to, and releasing the emotions bottled up with my story has been a welcome sadness.

"But the worst death," I finally say. "The _worst_ death... was Ferb's."

"What happened to him?" she asks.

"I... I..."

I tear up, unable to bring myself to tell the truth.

Isabella recognizes this, and hugs me even tighter. "It's okay," she says, trying to comfort me.

"Isabella, I killed Ferb!" I confess suddenly. Then I freeze, and fall to the ground. "I killed Ferb," I repeat between sobs.

Isabella stops. She kneels down next to me. "What did you do?" she asks.

"You heard me," I say, keeping my face firmly planted on the ground. "I killed Ferb."

"No," replies Isabella, refusing to believe what I told her. "I want the whole story."

I don't respond. I just continue crying on the floor.

"Phineas," insists Isabella. "Tell me what happened. Why did you kill Ferb?"

"I thought he made fun of me," I reply. "It started when the Anarchist wanted me to try a growth serum he had developed. It worked. I grew taller. And it also turned me into a monster."

I shudder, remembering what I had looked like then. I may have found words for Isabella's death, albeit inadequate ones, but there are truly no words to describe myself in this moment.

"Ferb was there next to me. He handed me a mirror so I could see what I looked like. When I did see, I hated it, and accused him of turning me into this. The last thing I remember from that day is laughing at the look of terror on his face right before I tore him to shreds."

After hearing my confession, Isabella is silent for a long time. "I think that serum might have made you emotionally unstable as well," she finally says, giving me her diagnosis.

I already knew this, of course. "It did," I confirm. "But I still knew I was killing my brother. I still made a conscious choice to do that. I watched him show me that mirror. I watched him laugh at me, mock me for what I had become. I remember very clearly thinking that he deserved to die."

"No you didn't," says Isabella. "You know as well as I do that Ferb's death wasn't your fault. The Anarchist just convinced you otherwise."

"But Isabella," I protest. "I literally singlehandedly killed Ferb. How could it possibly not be my fault?"

"That wasn't you making those decisions. The serum took over your mind. The serum is what killed Ferb. It's the serum that should be to blame for this all."

I want to believe her so badly right now. I want to believe that Ferb's death wasn't my fault. But how can I? It was me, not any potion of any kind, who threw him into the wall effortlessly. Who smiled when he fell to the floor like a rag doll. Who covered the distance between us with a single inhuman leap. Who laughed as I ripped his throat open, relishing in the terror of his last conscious moments. I still remember _enjoying_ watching him die, and that makes this memory the most painful of all.

But somehow, somewhere deep down in my heart, I know that she's right. I know that had I been even partially sane, Ferb would still be around today. I know that, however much I was made to believe that it was my fault, it wasn't. Not really.

I get back onto my feet, and hug her again. Neither of us say anything for a long time. We just need a moment of silence to let the tears flow and the events of the last five years sink in. And the silence is just what I need right now. That and the comfort in the hug.

"Thank you," I finally whisper.

"What are friends for?" she asks.

"No, really. Thank you."

We just sit there, leaning against the balcony, in silence for a long time. Finally, Isabella asks, "So how did you escape?"

I sigh. "Right after you died, the Anarchist designed this memory chip. It was supposed to make the wearer remember anything that ever happened to him or her, no matter how long ago it was. I was supposed to test this one, so I thought back to the day I couldn't remember. You know, the one where we first came over here."

Isabella nods, remembering that day as well.

"I remembered it all correctly, so the memory chip worked properly. But at first, I didn't believe it. So I convinced the Anarchist that it was faulty, and couldn't be fixed. He accepted this, but warned me that next time I couldn't fix something, he would kill me. And though he's done many other things, he doesn't lie.

"However, the more I thought about it, the more I believed that what happened on that day was the truth. That was how I figured out you loved me. But it was too late. You were already dead.

"Years later, just yesterday in fact, the Anarchist tried designing a potion that could resurrect the dead, but he said he needed the life of another person to do it. He decided to use my life to try and resurrect Ferb. I took the potion and tried to fix it first, but this time it really was impossible to resurrect the dead. So instead I designed a potion that would fake my death. When he injected it into my body, I passed out. When I woke up, I was outside. I had escaped. So I ran to this building, found the Doofenshmirtz of our dimension, and convinced him to rebuild that portal here. After that, well, you know the rest."

My painful story over, I lean against the balcony railing again, overlooking the city as the last dying rays of light creep below the horizon. Isabella, too, is stunned.

"I... Phineas... I... I don't know what to say," she confesses. "We have to stop the Anarchist somehow, but... he's got to be a wanted criminal, right? How hard can it be?"

I sigh. "I wish he were a wanted criminal. That would make things a lot easier. Truth is, he's won the Nobel Prize five years and counting. Everybody loves him."

Isabella's eyes widen. "Oh. That does make things harder."

"All I'm trying to do is get home safely," I confess. "I haven't seen her in five years."

In the next split second, Isabella makes a decision. "You know what?" she asks, whipping out her cell phone. "You're coming with me."

She dials a few numbers, then puts the phone to her ear.

"Hello? Mom?... Is it okay if Phineas spends the night?"

* * *

 **Yeah. That all happened. That's how they die. Call me a sadist for imagining this, and I won't blame you. After all, I wrote this story in the hopes that the FanFiction community would stop sleeping at night. (not really) (well, sort of) (no, actually I wrote it for different reasons)**

 **~Review! If you please.**


	4. Chapter 4

**It's time for our next installment of I'm Coming Home, this one preceded by guest reviews!**

 **Guest: You deserve more chapters. So here's one.**

 **WKAF: I just did. Hope you like it.**

 **Why do I even need to say I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Tell the World, Brother Dear, I'm Coming Home**

* * *

The next morning, Isabella walks me over to my alternate self's house. Apparently, it's a weekend, so Phineas and Ferb will already be under the big oak tree in the backyard, not worrying about school. Baljeet and Buford are also there early today.

"Whatcha doin'?" she asks, and I jump. I had forgotten her catchphrase after so long.

"Not much," Phineas replied. "School really sucks all the creativity out of you."

"Good thing I cam prepared, then. Because guys," Isabella announces, "I have a surprise for you."

They all look at Isabella eagerly. She motions, and I walk into view.

The others gasp. "Is that—"

"First-dimension Phineas," I confirm, immediately happier from the mere sight of these people.

"I never thought I'd see you alive again," I confess. "Any of you."

"You never visited!" explains Phineas.

"Even your first-dimension versions," I finish, and the others—as expected—stop cold.

"Why not?" Baljeet breathes.

"It—" unable to continue, I look to Isabella. She takes a deep breath, and solemnly relates my story to them, leaving out the details concerning any kissing and romance. She also toned down the violence with which everyone died. Not that it stopped Baljeet from puking.

By the time she finishes, silence has taken a firm hold over everyone. It lingers for a long moment, then vanishes at the will of Buford.

"So what do we do?" he asks.

I answer firmly. "We get me back home to my mother. Whatever the cost."

Phineas brightens up a bit. "That should be pretty easy. We just build a portal to the first dimension right here in our kitchen. Then you can walk safely from here right into your home. Nothing can stop you."

I think about it. If my mother sees me before the Anarchist catches me, that will be enough. She'll alert the authorities, and the resulting search will undoubtedly lead to me. The Anarchist would be trapped in his own web. And he can't do anything about it. So I just have to get to my mother before the Anarchist gets to me. If I start in my house, surely I can win the race.

So I smile. "Yeah," I say. "I can do that."

* * *

It doesn't take long to finish building the portal, and with each passing second, I grow more and more excited. This is really happening! For the first time in five years, I might see my mother!

"And... done!" Isabella says, screwing in the final piece. "Phineas, are you ready to go home?"

The mile-wide grin on my face says it all. I may not have smiled much in the past five years, but I never forgot how.

"You bet I am!" I scream, childish and ecstatic.

"Here we go," says Phineas. Then he flips the switch.

The lights in the house flicker as energy is redirected to the portal. Then the generator kicks in, and before long, I'm looking straight into my mother's kitchen. It looks no different than when I last saw it.

Then my mom walks into view. She's putting something into the oven, most likely her famous meatloaf. In contrast to the kitchen, she looks incredibly different. Not that I expected her to be the same.

Happy to finally be home again, I step through the portal, victory in the palm of my hands.

...but not into a kitchen.

I look behind me, back into the portal, and I can clearly see the look of horror on my second-dimension friends' faces. I hear a snap, see a spark, and the portal cok lapses in on itself.

It is then that I realize what just happened.

The Anarchist activated the _Light-Speed and Beyond Rocket_ , knowing any portal energy would inevitably be drawn to it. Just one of the perks of breaking the light barrier. So I stepped through the portal into the warehouse where the rocket is stored. Beside me, I see the rocket itself. Its engine is running, but it has no fuel to go anywhere.

I hear something move behind me, and turn around just in time to see one of the Anarchist's thugs swing his gun at me. Luckily, I duck just in time to dodge it, and the gun whizzes harmlessly over my head.

Thinking instinctively, I attack the man. First a blow to his belly, then to his throat. He stumbles backwards, then falls to the ground, hitting his head on the floor and passing out.

But I don't have time to feel proud of my victory, because right then I hear the click of a gun cocking, ready to fire.

"That wasn't very nice," the Anarchist says.

I turn to face him. He's standing far enough away from me that I can't reach him, but close enough that should he pull the trigger, he can't miss.

"Neither are you," I retort.

"Don't make me pull this trigger, Phineas," the Anarchist warns. "I would hate to have to clean up the mess."

"I just wanted to see my mother," I confess.

"You know I can't allow that to happen."

"You can't stop me, either," I tell him. "You can imprison me, enslave me, beat me to the brink of death. You can win five more Nobel Prizes at my expense. You can follow me wherever I go. But you can't stop me. I have been waiting five years for this. Already, it's happening. Can you feel it? There are search parties out there, looking for me. I have friends out there, who are going to find me. They will stop at nothing to find me. And I will never rest until they do. Face it: no matter how powerful you are, you can't control this. You can't end it. The future is already in motion, and there's nothing you can do about it. I am going home."

Okay, so maybe that's not entirely true. I don't know if there are search parties, or friends, scouring the streets in search of me. All I left behind was that note to Perry. But the Anarchist should have no way of knowing this, either, and that's what I'm gambling on.

Looking at the Anarchist, I notice that he was momentarily silenced by my speech. For a brief moment, I thought my ploy had worked. But then he laughs. And keeps on laughing.

"I think you just forgot that I have a gun," he explains. "I can kill you right now if I want. And since you just vowed to be nothing but a problem for me, I think it's a great idea."

He raises his gun, points it at me. I have to think fast now. Time is quickly running out. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a plan. A permanent solution to my problem.

A flurry of thoughts and memories sweep through my head as I spring into action. I remember Buford, bravely stepping into the rocket. How he solemnly turned around, promising to be back for dinner. His face pressed against the window, screaming for help in his final moments.

I remember Candace, confident when she put the bodysuit on. Smiling as she stood against the wall, waiting to be tested. The bullets killing her so quickly she didn't even have time to look scared.

I remember Baljeet. When he reminded us that he already conquered one tiger. How bad could a few more be? The way he struggled to put on the perfume, as he had never thought of wearing deodorant of any kind before. Then his eyes wide, pleading for mercy as the tigers ripped his arm off.

I remember Isabella, ready to jump into the water. The few seconds of calm after she swallowed the drink, the moments when we thought everything was going to be all right this time. That nobody would have to die. Then her stomach lurching, the blood spurting out of her mouth. When she lifted her shirt to see the hive on her stomach. The scorch marks on the inside of her body, quickly becoming more visible as the skin deteriorated. Her desperate cry, the groan of, "Save me," that everyone was too stunned to respond to.

I remember Ferb. Showing me my reflection in the hand mirror, with no idea what was about to happen. The terror on his face as he realized his death would come at the hands of his own brother. His limp form after I threw him into the wall. The blood, gushing out of his throat where I slit it, laughing maniacally.

I remember the man who did this to all of us. Who five years ago kidnapped us and enslaved us. Who managed to hide the terrible truth from the rest of the world, even as he gained global fame and recognition. Who masterminded the deaths of everyone kidnapped with me. The real reason behind everything wrong with my life right now. And here he is, standing in front of me, seconds away from claiming his final victim and putting an end to all of _his_ problems.

So, fueled by all the rage and hate of five years, by the memory of my friends, my siblings, and by the desire to return to my mother, to life, I move. In a step, I am right behind the bodyguard who got knocked out earlier. The Anarchist follows my movement with his gun, but he doesn't fire. Not yet. I reach for the bodyguard's weapon, wrestling it out of his limp but meaty hand. Then, pointing it at the Anarchist, I squeeze the trigger.

The warehouse doors come crashing open, and in rush Major Monogram and Carl, followed closely by Perry. But it's all over now.

The first person they see is the Anarchist, clutching his side where I hit him.

"It's the Doctor!" Carl exclaims, rushing over to aid him. "He's been hurt!"

"Don't move!" I scream, redirecting my gun to Carl. The intern backs off. All of them do, as they cannot stop me.

I make my way over to the Anarchist, lying helplessly on the ground now.

"That was for Ferb," I say. Then I shoot him again, making sure not to kill him. Not yet.

"That was for Isabella."

I shoot him again. "For Baljeet."

Again. "For Buford."

Again. "For Candace."

Then I aim the gun at his head. "And this? This is for me."

When I pull the trigger this time, I don't flinch. I don't even blink as the shot echoes through the walls of the warehouse.

"That doesn't even begin to describe the pain you put me through," I tell him, even though he can't hear me.

* * *

 _It's been a long, long time since I smiled_

 _It's been a long, long time since I've seen the light of day_

 _It's been a long, too long, but I'm coming_

 _Tell the world, brother dear, I'm coming home_

I looked up at Perry. He was stunned to see me do what I had just done. But it was what I had to do to end the nightmare.

 _It's been a long, long time since that summer_

 _It's been a long, long time since I had a chance to laugh_

 _It's been a long, too long, but I'm coming_

 _Tell the world, brother dear, I'm coming home_

Of course, after that I couldn't go home. I had just committed murder. So they arrested me and took me away.

 _It's been a long, long time since I left you_

 _It's been a long, long time since you tucked me into bed_

 _It's been a long, too long, but I'm here now_

 _Tell the world, brother dear, I made it home_

The jury ruled me guilty of murder, as expected. But they also ruled the Anarchist guilty of kidnapping, fraud, and murder. Justice had been served.

 _Tell the world, brother dear, I made it home_

When it came time for the sentencing, the overwhelming vote was that I be cleared of any prison time. Finally, I could return home.

* * *

"Do you hear that, Ferb?" I asked. "Do you hear the singing? The dancing? The mourning? How about you, Candace? Do you hear it? I know you do. You always do. I made it, Isabella. I made it home, just like you said I would. We did it. Buford, we beat the Anarchist. He's gone now. He's not gonna bother us, not ever. I promise, Baljeet. His days of torture and unfair glory are over. They took his Nobel Prizes away. They're ours now. Baljeet, you're a hero. You too, Candace. And Ferb, and Buford, and Isabella. We're all heroes. Guys, we won. It's all over now. It's all over."

A tear fell from my cheek, staining the white petals of the flowers below.

"Goodbye, friends, brothers, sisters," I said. "See you in heaven when I get there."

I lay down next to their graves, situated in a circle around the oak tree I just planted there, and cried myself to sleep on the autumn grass.

* * *

 _Worlds away, there was another land. A land without terror, without fear, and without deceit. A land where peace reigned freely, and nobody had to worry about any trouble of any kind. It was from this land that Ferb smiled. "It's Phineas," he told everyone. "He made it."_

 _Isabella shared in the smile. "I knew he would. He always does."_

 _She sat down on the grassy hillside next to Ferb, followed closely by Candace, Baljeet, and Buford. Together they gazed up at the starry evening sky, somehow watching Phineas as he lived with enough life for the six of them._

* * *

 **It's your lucky day. You got the happy ending. It didn't have to be this way. I was seriously considering having the Anarchist kill Phineas. Seriously: it all came down to the flip of a coin.**

 **Oh, and yes. That was the end of the story. I bet going into this chapter you didn't think it would be, but that's just how it goes, I guess.**

 **And one final thing: don't be surprised if I add some bonus material onto the end of this story. But don't be surprised if I don't, either. What bonus material, you ask? Well, things like Perry's journey from getting the note to crashing into the warehouse. That alternate ending and other deleted scenes. The newspaper headlines. And other stuff like that.**

 **~Review! If you please.**


	5. The End

**If you were hoping beyond hope that an update still might come to this story, I've got good and bad news.**

 **The bad news first: that update is not coming. Instead, I have decided to leave FanFiction. Kind of like, forever. So... I'm not finishing this story. Sorry.**

 **Now for the good news. You can still see my plans and betas for this story. It's on my latest piece—Goodbye. If you are desperate to know what I had planned, you can check that out.**

 **I know, I know... you're disappointed. Well, at least one of you is. But please understand that I do not exist solely to please you guys, however awesome you are. There are other people—people I know more intimately—who I hold in much higher regard. I'm sure you know people like this, as well. If you do, then you can understand why those are the people to whom I choose to dedicate my time.**

 **Fellas, it's been a blast. As always, Carpe Diem.**


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